Country diary

Evidence that the forest is a working landscape is all around. One clear sign is a stack of tree trunks by the road side at Bramshaw's Telegraph. Up to 15 metres in length, these trees were about 150 years old. Brought down last year, only in recent months have the conditions been right to haul them out of the woodland for collection. Huge logging machines are used when working with conifers, but hardwoods – such as these oaks – are handled manually. Their smooth trunks display the dexterity of the foresters who felled and prepared them.

A rutted track along which the logs have travelled snakes across the heath. On reaching the trees, it plunges far down the margins of Studley Wood and into the heart of the Island Thorns Inclosure. Only in the depths of the wood did the source of the roadside stack become clear as sunlight caught the still-raw texture of the low-cut trunks. Their spread makes clear that this was selective felling. Though quality timber, the trees taken out had not attained their full potential. Those left now have a chance to develop theirs.

On my way through the woods, I disturbed a group of fallow does. Most became skittish. With speckled flanks, they merged so quickly into the background that it was impossible to tell just how many were in the group. One, somewhat darker than the others, stood her ground, studying me as I crept nearer. Her comfort zone breached, the whole group vanished.

Each time I encountered them, the same thing happened. Then noises in the distance alerted us all to company. Walkers' dogs in nearby rides caught the scent of the deer, and barked loudly. In panic, the deer raced from side to side until, perhaps deciding that I was the least worst option, they leapt past me, to vanish within the woodland's dappled shades.